…..
Every day is a nightmare, over and over again, replayed in my head…
…
He stood there, staring at the blood coating his hands, shivering as snow began to fall from the rusty tin hole above him. He glanced around the tiny house, trying to peer through the dim light, trying to make out the shape of the little girl who huddled in the corner moments ago. He coughed loudly, feeling bloody saliva drip down his chin and glanced once more at the body lying a few feet away. Tears welled in his eyes and he choked out a sob as they began to fall down his face. He shook his head trying to clear his mind, trying to remember where he was, trying to return to reality.
His knees buckled and he fell to a sobbing mess on the wooden floor. His knees and palms scrapped against the ground harshly, wooden splinters piercing his hands and he reached for the person lying in front of him. Blood dripped from the wound on his side, staining his shirt and dripped rhythmically to the floor. His vision wavered as something moved to his left and he jerked his head quickly, trying to make out the source. Something sharp collided with his right side and he let out a cry as his world flipped, leaving him staring at the tiny hole in the roof above him. He blinked a few times as snow and sleet covered his bruised face, and peered to the right, hearing someone crying.
Something smacked against his face and strong hands gripped his arms, tugging him upright, slamming him against the wooden wall behind him. He let out a harsh breath as the air was forced from his lungs, and bit his bottom lip, squinting through the dim light. Something moved in front of him. Red eyes pierced through the darkness and a growled echoed off the walls, but Nick could only make out a blurry distorted image of a monster. "It's time to teach you a lesson Grimm," the creature growled. Nick felt something sharp slam into his head, then he blacked out…
He jerked awake, gripping the sheets that were plastered against his sweaty body, and scrambled from the bed quickly. He smacked against the wooden floor with a loud thump, trying to support himself on unstable legs, trying to push his aching body up with trembling arms, struggling to push oxygen to his deprived lungs. He watched motionless as sweat slid down his arms, seeping into the bandages wrapped loosely around his wrists, taking in a harsh breath before realizing it was just a dream. He let out a loud sigh. He sat up gently, pressing his back against the mattress behind him, and ran a shaky hand through his sweat soaked hair. It was just a dream. It was just a dream... Right?
He looked down at the white gauze and let his hand hover over it for a second before slowly unwrapping it, sucking in a harsh breath as he touched the scabbed skin. He took a few deep breaths, hoping to calm himself down, and unwound the other bandage on his other arm, flexing the muscles. The skin on his arms was almost healed, but they had begun to itch relentlessly due to new skin trying to form over old. He spread his legs out in front of him, trying to stretch his tired limbs as questions whirled through his mind. If it was just a dream, then why did it feel so real? Music blared to his right and Nick looked over to see the small numbers on his alarm clock blinking viciously. It 7:30am. Despite sleeping later than he normally did, he felt like he hadn't slept.
He leaned his head back against the bed, running another hand through his hair and let out a loud yawn. He'd had the same nightmare for two weeks now, the only difference was this one hadn't ended in fire. Chills ran over Nick's skin as sweat dried on his body, and Nick closed his eyes briefly. Everyone in town seemed to ignore him, too afraid to make conversation, while everyone at the precinct seemed to think he'd done it, suspecting him of any small crimes or weird/ unusual events plaguing Portland... everyone except Renard.
He heard a soft knock at his door and looked up to see Rosalee entering the small bedroom. She glanced at Nick then to the tangled sheets on the bed before smiling softly, "Nick, honey, we heard something fall downstairs, and wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you okay?"
Rosalee crossed her arms over her chest gently, coming closer. The teenager ran another hand through his hair and pushed himself off the floor shakily, "Y-yeah I'm fine, just a nightmare. It's fine."
Rosalee nodded softly, "Are you sure? You're pale… we can- you don't have to go back today if you'd like another day…"
Nick walked over to the old dresser standing in the corner, glancing at his reflection in the mirror briefly. Despite almost sleeping the full night, he looked tired. Dark bags sat under his eyes, standing out against his pale face; his black hair looked almost psychotic, and despite being almost healed, the skin on his left arm and shoulder looked angry and rough. He let out a loud sigh, glancing briefly at Rosalee in the mirror as she inched closer. Nick coughed, glancing down at the dresser, and started rummaging through the pile of hand-me-down shirts Monroe had given him, tossing them messily aside in the wooden drawer.
He'd forgotten today was his first day back. His first day back since the incident- since the Chemistry building burned down. At least it's Friday, he thought, grabbing the black Oktoberfest shirt that was pressed in the corner of the drawer. He ran his fingers over the collar fondly, smirking when he saw Monroe and Rosalee's names embroidered on the back, a date underneath. He gripped the shirt tightly in his hand, grabbing some of the gauze off his desk, and turned back towards Rosalee.
Nick bit his lip as guilt washed over him, and he shivered again. Whether she had intended for Nick to see the emotion painted on her face, Nick couldn't help but feel guilty as worry washed over her complexion, nervous expressions toying with her lips. Why was she nervous? Why was she worried? She didn't have to face a group of people who hated her. She didn't burn down the building. She didn't imagine a whole scenario that didn't happen. She didn't murder someone! You did! You did! YOU DID!
Nick shook his head, pulling the old shirt over his messy black hair, "It's fine Rosalee. I'm fine. I can't miss anymore school anyway." He grabbed his sketchbook from his desk, running his fingers lightly over the torn pages, and knelt next to his bookbag, shoving books in it harshly, inspecting the hole that remained on the side of the red bag. He heard her sigh and tensed, feeling her eyes analyzing him. She thinks you're crazy. She thinks you're ill! She's going to tell you to stay, because she doesn't trust you…
…Red eyes pierced through the darkness and a growled echoed off the walls, but Nick could only make out a blurry distorted image of a monster. "It's time to teach you a lesson Grimm," the creature growled...
"Alright… Monroe offered to drive you but call us if you have any problems," She said the last word lightly, as if it was offensive and delicate, Nick winced. He wasn't crazy.
Rosalee sighed again, stopping in the door, her hand hovering over the knob as if she was debating whether she should leave Nick alone, with the door closed, "he also made spinach pancakes downstairs." A look of disgust crossed Nick's face at the idea of spinach pancakes. The thought alone was horrifying but truth be told, they were probably pretty good, considering Monroe was surprisingly an amazing cook. Rosalee laughed gently, "don't worry Nick, I can make you some normal ones." She closed the door slowly and Nick waited till he heard her footsteps fade before looking back down at the small bookbag.
He really needed a new one. The small hole was bigger now, straining to stay together with the small piece of duct tape that covered it. It was trying desperately to stay in one piece as books and binders pierced through, letting pens and pencils slip through the damaged piece of fabric. The small hole was getting bigger, making it harder to hide… eventually the bag would rip, eventually the hole would be too big to piece back together. Eventually… it wouldn't be able to stay in one piece and everyone would know that his bag was breaking, ripping, splitting into a million pieces for the world to see. Just like me, he thought.
…..
Nick sighed loudly as he pressed his aching head against the cold metal of his locker door. The bandages wrapped around his arms itched viciously and Nick grit his teeth, resisting the urge to scratch his arms. He didn't really want to be here. But it was either put up with school, or put up with Monroe and another one of his 'violence is not the answer' lectures. A small smile toyed with his lips at the idea of having to listen to another boring conversation centered around a hidden message coming from a guy who dressed like Pinocchio's father. He didn't really mind the lectures though… it was better than Renard's threats.
He heard a strangled noise and looked to his right to see one of the janitor's standing a few feet away, nonchalantly mopping at an already soaking wet floor. Nick nodded gently as the bald man gasped, dropping his mop, plastering his stance to the floor as if his shoes were glued to the ugly speckled ground. Nick's vision swayed for a second as his headache pulsed down his neck and he sucked in a sharp breath. The janitor's face distorted into a beaver-like creature, his front teeth warping at long pointed angles, stringy whiskers growing from his cheeks. Nick pinched his eyes shut, slamming his head harshly against the locker door as his breathing hitched. Not here! Not here! Not now! Please! He gripped the locker door, hearing a loud bang, some splashing and pried an eye open to see the janitor scrambling to push past the student body violently. Nick groaned again, shutting his eyes as his head spun. You're losing it! You're going insane! Pull it together man!
Something slammed to his left and Nick opened his eyes quickly, turning his attention towards a small Asian kid scrambling to pick his books off the floor. Nick let out a few deep breaths before kneeling next to kid, picking up some of the papers that littered the floor, handing them to the small boy, smiling gently. The boy eyed him suspiciously before nodding, taking them from Nick's hands.
Nick went to stand, helping the kid off the floor, taking note of the black eye that was forming on the boy's right cheek. The small boy nodded again, muttering a small "thanks," grabbing his bookbag from the floor. He glanced down at the bandages on Nick's wrists and Nick bit his lip. I'm not crazy, he thought, taking a step forward, wanting to explain, reaching his hand out to grasp the other kid's shoulder. Something hard collided with Nick's jaw as his body was shoved against the locker.
He sat dazed for a second, listening to ringing in his ears, as a metallic taste filled his mouth, wondering what the hell just happened. He looked up to see a dark figure looming over him for a second as Nick's vision wavered and his breathing hitched; the distorted image of a monster flashed through his mind. Pain shot through his hand as someone's foot struck his fingers, grinding them against the cold hard tile, and Nick bit back a wince, yanking his hand back quickly. He pushed himself up from the floor, touching his hand to his mouth and pulling it back to see blood dripping down his hand, soaking into the innocent white gauze. Fucking great.
Nick clenched his fists tightly, turning to see the other boy no longer standing next to him. His eyes scanned the hallway, seeing him a few feet away, once again scrambling to grab his papers off the floor as two kids tore through his bookbag. Nick felt anger course through his veins, and tried to push past the kid standing in front of him.
"Now wait a minute, where do you think you're going?" the kid asked softly. Nick turned to face the boy standing in front of him, glaring down at him as the kid pushed Nick once more against the locker. He grit his teeth as the other kid's hand touched his chest forcefully, and Nick felt the urge to smack the guy's hand away. Nick smirked, feeling anger clawing at his chest, ripping at his flesh, begging to be released. He sucked in a breath and looked around the crowded hallway. Nick slammed his head against the locker, pressing his hand against the cool metal, hoping the solid surface would keep him from doing something stupid. He glanced at the speckled floor, watching small droplets of blood bubble on the floor next to his black converse. He took a shallow breath. Calm down. Calm down. You're fine.
The guy smiled deviously, and slapped Nick's cheek gently before turning his attention towards the two guys messing with the younger boy. Nick swallowed loudly, clenching his fists harder- he wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid smile off the others face, nothing more than to destroy his cocky attitude. The guy kicked the boy's disregarded bag from him, and instead focused his attention towards its owner. The kid was pressed against one of the lockers, his hands held down by the two henchmen that had been previously going through his bag. The kid shook his head as the guy stepped closer, pressing his hand against the locker calmly. "What did I tell you about talking to my girl, Wu?" The guy said loudly, gripping the Asian kid's shirt collar, as the boy muttered a small "please."
"What the fuck is your problem." Nick whispered, raising his head slowly. He took a deep breath as his head continued to spin, and he swallowed, knowing he was about to do something stupid. The guy let go of the small boy, who smacked to the ground with a sickening thud before Wu grabbed his bag and pushed his way through the crowd quickly. The guy turned back towards Nick, letting out a small laugh as he popped his knuckles slowly. The hallway seemed to freeze now, an eerie quiet settling over the tiny corridor, and Nick could see one of the English teachers standing in a doorway down the hall, eating an apple. Figures he wouldn't help. Nick turned back towards the blonde kid, who stood a few feet away, his henchmen filing in line behind him, arms crossed.
"What did you say freak?" the kid spat harshly, kicking Nick's bag roughly across the floor. Nick watched as the contents rolled lazily from the bag, his old sketchbook sliding across the floor, coming to a sudden stop as it collided with the locker across the hall. He looked back at the kid, pushing himself away from the locker and felt his fists clench again. "I said," Nick growled, "what the fuck is your problem."
The corner of the kid's mouth turned upright into an ugly smirk, and Nick felt a chill run down his spine as his vision wavered once more. A girl grasped at the boy's arm, "Bryson, come on, he's not worth it," she said softly, placing her hand on his chest, trying to push him away. Bryson shrugged her off dryly, "Fuck off Adalind, I'm going to enjoy this one."
Blood was beginning to slide down Nick's hand as his fingernails pierced the burned flesh coating his palms. Red eyes flashed across his mind again and Nick shook his head, he needed to think. His head swam violently and he gripped the edge of the locker as black dots danced in front of him, causing him to suck in a ragged breath. His headache was beginning to spread down his neck now, and Nick wondered momentarily if he should have taken Rosalee up on her offer. He blinked a few times as the dots evaded, and Nick swallowed, relief washing over him. The small group of students began to fill the hallway and Nick could hear shouting from one of the teachers from down the hall, and he clenched his fist again, waiting for Bryson to strike. Don't be stupid. Don't be stupid. Stupid kid! Stupid Grimm!
"Tell me freak," Bryson spat, closing the distance between him and Nick, "What does it feel like to murder someone?"
Nick cleared his throat ignoring the pain shooting down his neck, and glanced down at the blonde kid, a small smirk toying with his lips, "Why? You want to find out?"
Bryson shoved him against the locker causing Nick to lose his balance momentarily. He gripped the open door on one of the ugly green lockers and stood slowly, letting out a small laugh as his head collided once more with the metal behind him. Nick shook his head as screaming echoed through his mind and the smell of smoke filled his nostrils…
…He lit the match, watching the flames dance wildly on the tip. His eyes clouded by the smoke that was filling the room and his ears deaf to the screams that echoed through the tiny corridor…
Nick shook his head again, trying to clear his mind, trying to clear his vision. He looked at Bryson again, sucking in a harsh breath as red eyes greeted him and the image from his nightmare danced in front of him. He mumbled something under his breath that not even he could understand and dug his fingernails deeper into his flesh. He was pretty sure he looked insane. Fuck, he was pretty sure he was losing his damned mind. Bryson stared at him again, "I heard when they found you Burkhardt, they had to pry the axe from your hands…"
Nick snorted, wiping some of the blood that still fell down his chin, glaring at the fuzzy image of the beast standing next to Bryson. He bit his tongue, trying to hold back an angry scream, trying to focus on the words spewing from Bryson's mouth. The monsters face glitched and Nick's eyes widened as the image of a man, his face contorted into a wolf-like creature with piercing red eyes, filled the black space. It pointed towards Nick, blood dripping down its mouth, landing in big splashes against the tiled floor next to Nick's sketchbook, splashing on the tan cover, staining it an ugly red. Nick pressed his hands to his head, trying to calm his breathing, trying to block out the monster looming over Bryson's head "Leave me the fuck alone!"
Bryson took another step forward, pointing his finger in Nick's chest, "Touch a nerve, did I? Tell me, just how psychotic are you? Did you kill your Aunt too? Or just your previous foster family?"
Nick grit his teeth, glaring at Bryson before looking back towards the space the monster had previously occupied. He wiped some sweat dripping down his face as the monster glitched again before vanishing in an angry splash of red. Nick took a deep breath, looking back down at Bryson as Nick's head once more slammed against the metal behind him. Bryson repeated the question, turning to face the small crowd gathered in the hallway as images of Nick's Aunt flashed across his mind. He sucked in a harsh breath, tears threatening to well in his eyes as memories rolled back to him in waves. He clenched his fists, feeling the necklace around his neck weighing him down like a brick, strangling the oxygen from his lungs, preventing anymore to flow down his throat. He glanced down at his shoes.
…Blood; there was so much blood; he could smell it… Grimm! The knife sliced through her back harshly as she fell to the ground. Nick fell in a heaping mess in front her, pulling her close, screaming for help as blood gushed from her back like spilled paint. Tears rushed down his cheeks as she touched his face gently, her hand feeling cold and fragile against his skin…This isn't a fairytale Nicky. You're vulnerable now… You have to kill the bad ones… You're vulnerable now… This isn't a fairytale…
"Tell me freak, how long does your current family have before you chop them up too?"
Nick looked up, his vision blurring and anger ripping through his chest, rushing to the surface, finally breaking free. Nick felt a smirk form across his face, twisting his lips into an unholy grin as his vision faded red, and pent-up rage took over.
…
Pain was the first thing Nick registered as he stared down at the blood bubbling to the surface of his knuckles. He watched the small crimson liquid trickle from his hand, sliding down his arm, staining the now pink gauze a deeper red, and drip onto the stained floor below him. The flesh on his knuckles was busted open from force and Nick wondered momentarily how it had happened. He felt strong arms grip his shoulders, forcing him against the lockers behind him as Nick's world spun violently. Silence filled his ears as everything around him moved at a painfully slow pace and Nick swallowed loudly.
It wasn't until he felt something hard connect with his ribs that he knew what happened. Everything suddenly sped up and Nick winced loudly as another fist connected with his side. He looked down at the floor, watching Bryson struggling to regain his composure as the girl from earlier wiped some blood from his chin. Nick spit bloody saliva from his mouth and smirked at Bryson as his eyes washed over the swollen black eye and busted lip. He had destroyed something beautiful, and it felt good. You're a fucking idiot Nick.
Nick coughed again as another fist slammed against his torso, and winced as someone smashed his wrist against the locker behind him, pressing down on the burned flesh beneath his bandages. He closed his eyes, listening to the yelling from the teachers desperately trying to break through the horde of students, trying to break up the fight. He heard Bryson yelling something but tuned him out, and instead focused on his breathing as his head slammed against the locker once more.
"That's enough!" Someone yelled loudly, causing the next blow to cease in midair. Nick pried his eyes open slowly, expecting to see one of the teachers standing with their arms crossed. Much to his surprise, the Captain of the football team and unfortunately Nick's lab partner, stood a few feet away, his blue bookbag hanging loosely from his broad shoulders. Nick squinted, trying to clear his vision as Hank Griffin stepped forward, dropping his bag against the dirty ground. Nick coughed loudly, relief washing over him as his eyes reached Hank's, giving him a small nod in appreciation.
"Fuck off Griffin. This doesn't concern you,"' Bryson spat, pushing Adalind's hand away and inching closer towards the two guys holding Nick.
"Seeing as you're the Quarterback, this does concern me. He's had enough, let him go,"' Hank said loudly, pushing past some of the students walking by the locker. Nick felt his world spin and shook his head as pain coursed through his side. He glared at Bryson, watching the shorter boy raising his fist. Nick lunged for him, causing one of the guy's grasping his arms to dig their fingernails through the dirty gauze, piercing the healing skin with dirty nails. Nick bit back a wince as his mouth filled with metallic blood and saliva.
"Stone! I'm warning you. I'll tell Coach the real reason you spend a few extra minutes in the locker room before each game," Hank said, stepping forward, pressing his hand against Bryson's shoulder. Bryson turned to face him, his fist frozen in the air, "You wouldn't dare. You'd bring the whole team down, including yourself!"
Hank stepped closer, closing the gap between him and Bryson, "Try me."
Bryson turned back towards Nick, an awkward smile toying with his lips, giving his face an animated look. Bryson nodded stiffly, "You heard the Captain boys… let him go."
The pressure released from Nick's wrists and he leaned against the locker, struggling to stand tall despite the throbbing ache coursing through his ribs. Bryson stepped forward, pressing his hand against Nick's chest, pushing him gently against the locker, "He's all yours Hank. The fucking psycho."
Nick grinned, spitting bloody saliva he'd been holding in his mouth towards the shorter boy as Bryson turned away. It hit him in the chest and Bryson lunged for Nick as Hank stepped in between them, "Leave it Stone!"
Bryson glared up at Hank, violent anger gleaming in his eyes, "Just remember Burkhardt, Griffin won't always be there to watch your back."
Nick sighed and leaned his head against the locker, exhaustion washing over him as all adrenaline left his body. He glanced once more at the dried blood crusted on his knuckles and turned back towards his open locker, grabbing his Chemistry book from it, listening to the yammering from the student body as the crowd dispersed. He heard one of the teachers still trying to regain order in the disobedient rowdy crowd, and turned to face the packed hallway. He leaned his sweaty back against the cool metal, sucking in an unsteady breath. Monroe was going to kill him- No, Monroe was going to lecture him; Renard was going to kill him.
Nick felt someone jab him in the ribs lightly, and turned to see Hank standing next to him, Nick's backpack hanging loosely in his hand. Nick eyed it, inspecting the ripped side, making sure his bag was still intact and useable before grabbing it from Hank's grasp.
"Thanks," He whispered, turning back around, slamming his locker shut.
Hank nodded, "Anytime, but next time you decide to do something stupid, make sure you have backup."
Nick sighed, "I can hold my own."
He grit his teeth as Hank let out a loud laugh, "Yeah, I can tell. You had Bryson exactly where you wanted him, right? Could have fooled me."
Nick shoved his textbook in his bag harshly, throwing his bag over his shoulder, pushing past a group of giggling girls as the bell rang overhead, signaling the end of school. He ran a hand through his hair, ripping one of the bandages from his wrists, and ducked past a teacher who was currently lecturing Bryson and his two henchmen about the consequences of fighting. Nick felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Hank following him, "What?"
Hank dropped his hand, gripping the strap on his bag, "The project is due tomorrow- for Chemistry. I know you've been out for a few weeks, and since we're still partners, I figured we should get together and work on it. It's the least you owe me… for saving your ass, and lighting my textbook on fire on the first day of class."
Nick shook his head, adjusting his bag to his other shoulder, "I can't… I have homework." He bit his lip as the lie left his mouth. Tonight, like most nights, he had planned on returning to the Chemistry building, hoping some new evidence would pop up, showing everyone including himself, that he hadn't burned the building down. Showing everyone that he wasn't crazy. He hadn't been able to go the other night considering Renard had kept him late, scrapping the gum from the tables in the interrogation rooms. He hadn't gone last night either because Monroe and Rosalee were bound determined to keep him in their sights. Who could blame them?
Hank eyed him, "Right…"
"Hank, I'm serious," Nick sighed, "Look, I don't have time for this. I'm going late for work, and besides you might want to choose a different partner… one a little more available, better at Chemistry…" and less psychotic, Nick added.
Nick ran another hand through his hair and thrust his hand in his pocket roughly before making his way once more through the chaotic hallway towards the door.
…
Nick tapped his pen against the desk, watching the clock on the wall tick by slowly, and let out a loud groan. It was almost 10pm, and despite having finished sweeping the whole floor nearly 2 hours ago, Renard refused to let him leave. He smacked his head against the wooden desk, causing some papers to fall to the floor next to him with a soft whoosh. He watched as some of the papers slid across the floor, stopping in front of another officer's desk, lazily.
"Nicholas…" Someone warned, and Nick thrust his head up to look at Renard who sat at the desk opposite to his, writing something down in a yellowed notebook. Nick groaned again and leaned back in his chair, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes, hoping to rub the exhausted boredom from them. This was the 5th night Renard had kept him here late without explanation. He's keeping an eye on you dumbass… Stupid kid!
"Where are you going tonight?" Renard asked, setting his notepad gently on the desk, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. Nick sat up in his chair, pulling it closer to the crowded desk, wincing as it gave a loud screech in protest, "What, I-"
"You better not be going to the school." Renard cut him off, raising an eyebrow. He watched the kid play with the bottom of his zipper on his jacket nervously. Nick cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, "What? No, I'm not-"
Renard leaned forward in his chair, spreading some images out on his desk, "If I catch you at the school Nicholas, there will be consequences."
"I'm not going to the school." Nick said flatly. He glanced over at one of the images littering Renard's desk. Most of them were blurry and dark, hard to recognize or decipher what was actually captured. "Do you want to talk about the fight?" Renard asked, rearranging some of the images, hoping to piece together a clearer picture as to what he was supposed to be looking at. The images were taken a few blocks from the school, the night of the fire- and although they were in poor condition, some of them looked promising… if he could just find what he was looking for.
Nick shook his head before realizing Renard hadn't seen him, "No sir."
Renard looked up briefly, giving him a stern look, before looking back down at the grainy photos once more. Nick scooted closer, waiting for Renard to tell him to back away. His chair let out another screech as he inched closer, and Nick bit his lip. He was never allowed to get closer, he was never allowed to see what Renard was working on.
He sucked in a harsh breath as Renard flipped through another batch of photos. He felt his breathing hitch, and his blood run cold as Renard settled on one image in the left-hand corner. No! It couldn't be! You're imaging it! You're going crazy! You're losing your damned mind! Nick felt tears well in his eyes, and he sucked in another short breath as all the oxygen left his aching lungs. He grasped the image from Renard's hand and held it in front of his face, trying his best to convince himself that the image was anything but what his mind perceived it to be. He heard Renard say his name, but Nick sat frozen, glued to his chair, unable to move, unable to breath.
The image was dark and fuzzy, in no condition to be able to make out a solid face or physical feature… but, that wasn't what had captured Nick's attention. A car had passed by the camera as light surrounded the hooded figure turning down a dark alley corner in the background. Nick swallowed hard as tears spilled over their tired rims, and he felt Renard's hand on his shoulder, shaking him. Nick's eyes moved from the dark figure to the shiny metal object clasped in its hand. It can't be. It can't be the same one!
…"You're vulnerable now Nicky. This isn't a fairytale," his Aunt said gently, pressing her hand to his cheeks as tears continued to stream down his young face. He looked around at the people gathering near him, clutching at his Aunt's right hand gripped tightly in his, as blood continued to stain his clothes and the sidewalk around him. "Someone help us! Please!" he yelled, looking back down at the weak smile plastered gently across his Aunt's face. She closed her eyes, letting her hand fall from Nick's face as he continued to scream. He glanced once more at the crowd around him, catching the glimpse of a dark figure turning a corner, blood dripping from the polished knife clasped in its hand…
"Nick!" Renard yelled once more, shaking the teenager's shoulders with both hands. The kid was starting to scare him, and the fact that he seemed unresponsive, even more so. Nick shook his head, looking at Renard, tears still falling silently from his pale face, "I- I recognize this…" He whispered, letting the photo fall from his shaky hands.
Renard's face flooded with confusion as he dropped one of his hands to pick up the photo from the ceramic floor. He glanced at Nick quickly before looking down at the photo clasped in his hand. He let out a sigh. It was a picture of a Reaper, an ancient one by the looks of it. Its scythe was visible from under it's dark robe, it's face a blurry image in front of the camera. It was trying to send a message. Renard had known there were a few in this side of Portland, but he hadn't thought they would be somehow involved in the fire. He looked up at Nick to see the teenager wiping roughly at the tears that glistened against his cheeks.
"You- recognize this?" Renard asked gently, leaning back in his chair. Nick nodded, "The knife… it's the same one that killed my… Aunt," Nick whispered, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket and leaning back in his chair. He felt his face heat up as embarrassment suddenly crept to the surface. He hadn't cried in front of someone in a long time. It made him feel exposed and naked… and childish.
"Do you know what it is?" Renard asked carefully. If Nick was able to identify it, then he would have to know… he'd have to know the truth of what it was, of what he was. Nick shook his head softly, looking over at the papers still strewn across the floor, abandoned. Renard let out a sigh, setting the photo down on his desk gently.
"You're free to go Nick," He said softly, reaching across his desk to flip the light off next to the teenager. Nick got up unsteadily, a million questions racing through his mind, but no voice to ask them.